


Come, Gentle Night

by Nicor_Fyrweorm



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Beast Wars
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Gen, Sad with a Happy Ending, Shakespeare Quotations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 12:24:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16063112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicor_Fyrweorm/pseuds/Nicor_Fyrweorm
Summary: Our loved ones are never really gone, if one knows where to search for them."Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-browed night, give me my Romeo. And when he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun."





	Come, Gentle Night

**Author's Note:**

> Migrated from FanFiction.Net.

There was little in the room so, taking into account there were still more than enough empty ones, no one made a move to clear it. As thus, when Rattrap enters it some days after the incident with Transmutate, it is exactly as the last time he saw it. 

Stripped skin proudly displayed on a wall, rack with spare swords showing an empty space, a chair in front of the desk and the computer collecting dust on the table. 

Spartan. And expected. Even if Rattrap hadn't been here before. 

Not really sure what made him come here, he walks to the middle of the room, letting the door close behind him, and sits cross-legged on the floor. 

"So…" he starts, as if trying to make small talk, but his efforts are for naught. 

There's no one else with him, something only corroborated by a look around. 

The room is as empty as when he first entered it. 

Only, from his position on the ground, Rattrap now notices something he hadn't before. 

So, curious, he gets to his pedes and moves to the berth, in front of which he kneels to retrieve the object that holds all of his attention. 

A datapad. 

Sitting again, this time with his back to the wall, he brings it online. 

He's surprised for just half a nanoklik when he sees what is in it. 

Books. 

With a growing amused smirk, he realizes they're all the earthling Shakespeare's work. 

Curiosity taking hold of him once more, he orders the last opened one to get onscreen. And breaks down laughing before he can stop himself when he sees the title. 

_Romeo and Juliet_

"A hopeless romantic, weren't you? Big, tough and all sharp teeth on the outside, but mushy on the inside, you big teddy bear!" he chortles before calming down enough to bring his attention back to the pad. 

That's when he notices the icon marking notes added by the reader. 

Still grinning widely, Rattrap presses it and chooses one of the many notes at random. And, just because he can, he stands up, clears his voice box, and starts reading out loud. 

_My only love sprung from my only hate!_  
_Too early seen unknown, and known too late!_  
_Prodigious birth of love it is to me,_  
_That I must love a loathed enemy._

He stops, his snickering making the last words almost unintelligible, and, just for kicks, checks the attached note. 

His smile vanishes faster than he could've thought possible. 

_And just as Juliet judged Romeo too soon, so have I the Maximals. For while Maximals and Predacons may be enemies, I find myself unwilling to maintain the charade, to sustain a hate born millions of years past. They may have been those I hated most, only behind Megatron and his despicable ways, but once I got to know them, I see that I was too quick to assume. I would not go as far as to say I_ like _them, but they have certainly grown on me, and I no longer have the willpower to lie to myself and say I do not care whatever may befall them. I wonder if that means I will agree to accompany them back to Cybertron, should a day come again. And it worries me, that I no longer have an answer._

Sinking back to the floor, Rattrap can only stare for a long time, drinking in the words and hearing a raspy voice whisper them in that rarely heard wistful tone. 

He should turn the datapad offline and leave, this is no business of his. 

But he wouldn't be himself if he let it be. 

So, he reaches for the list of notes, and chooses another. 

And, this time, when he reads, he uses a calmer and more subdued tone, almost a whisper, and allows himself to be lost in the words and their meaning. 

_O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?_  
_Deny thy father and refuse thy name;_  
_Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love_  
_And I'll no longer be a Capulet._  
_'Tis but thy name that is my enemy._  
_Thou art thyself, though not a Montague._  
_What's Montague? It is nor hand nor foot,_  
_Nor arm nor face, nor any other part_  
_Belonging to a man. O be some other name!_  
_What's in a name? That which we call a rose_  
_By any other word would smell as sweet;_  
_So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called,_  
_Retain that dear perfection which he owes_  
_Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,_  
_And for thy name, which is no part of thee,_  
_Take all myself._

This time, he re-reads the original text a couple times, slowly pulling together the pieces with growing dread. 

Only when he has a vague idea of what to expect does he pull up the note and, after a deep breath to steel himself, starts to read. 

_I thought I had successfully left my name and all attached to it behind when I first left the Predacons, only reinforcing that belief as I found myself growing attached to the Maximals, yet it took but the realization of our whereabouts to betray—the irony!—my true allegiance. I believed myself above this, I believed my choices clear, but… How can I deny what I am? What I have always been? For even among Maximals I always stayed true to my heritage, and yet, I betrayed even that when I bowed to Megatron. And worse still, I gave him back the very source of all my misgivings, of all fears and doubts, and if he is to harness it to my worst expectations, what will be of the Maximals? Of_ all _of us? I believe the answer to Juliet's question is simpler than any ever believed: What's in a name? Whatever you put in it. And in my erroneous beliefs, I used the name Predacon as synonym of glory and success, when, in reality, it will mean destruction and loss for all now that Megatron is in possession of the Golden Disk once more. I can only hope that my own name will someday mean redemption instead of betrayal._

There's a soft pained keen, and Rattrap startles badly before realizing it has come from himself. 

Once he calms down, he finds himself hesitating whether to look back to the datapad or not. 

It had been going on for so long, yet none had seen the growing darkness, the guilt, the need to straighten things… 

_"You know? I used to figure I had you pegged. Hey, he's a slag-spouting saurian, but at least you know where he_ stands. _"_

Rattrap winces at his own voice echoing in his processor, shrinking into himself. 

"I only made things worse, didn't I? Me and my big mouth…" 

He looks down at the screen but the words haven't changed, so, in an effort to escape the guilt coiling around his spark, he quickly closes the index with the notes, allowing the file to go to the last read point. 

_Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-browed night,_  
_Give me my Romeo. And when he shall die,_  
_Take him and cut him out in little stars,_  
_And he will make the face of heaven so fine_  
_That all the world will be in love with night_  
_And pay no worship to the garish sun._

Rattrap's breath is caught in his throat. 

That night, the _Axalon's_ lift descends with a soft hiss, allowing one small figure to step off of it and out of the shadow cast by the crashed ship. 

The stars fill the dark night sky and, perhaps it is his imagination, they shine brighter than any other time before. 

When Rattrap lies down against some rocks, still under Sentinel's shield, to stare up at them, he can't keep a small smile off his faceplate. 

After a moment of calm observation, he shifts to a more comfortable position and pulls out a datapad from subspace, turning it on before opening one of the many files and clearing his voice box. 

_Two households, both alike in dignity_  
_(In fair Verona, where we lay our scene),_  
_From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,_  
_Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean…_

As he reads aloud to the bright stars overhead, Rattrap feels a little less alone. 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the "Come, gentle night" quote, from which I got the title and summary of this story, and Dinobot's funeral, since he was literally 'cut into tiny stars'.
> 
> All quotes are, obviously, from William Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet_.


End file.
